-Threats that stand out in the open are either crushed foolishly or utterly uncontendable.-

It’s only been two weeks, Giyeridon scoffed to himself. Nobody can read all this in two weeks.

The hulking Minotaur was scrunched up in Limure’s library, pouring over the Devil’s Law along with the rest of the monster troops. His irritation grew vastly with each consecutive hour that he was forced to turn fragile pages and squint at tiny letters.

Fortunately, Giyeridon knew how to read the common language, but not all of the troops did, so they huddled together in groups, literate monsters reading aloud to the less educated.

In Prince Astaroth’s own words, he had no love for “lawless savages,” and so they were told not to come out of the library until he called for them or until they had read through all 666,000 laws and remembered at least a good chunk of them.

Mostly, the Minotaur was just irritated because he’d been called out among the Warlocks for slacking off the most in his studies. He also had more responsibilities than the others, so bite him.

And there was that annoying birdfolk lady who memorized the whole thing after one look and then went around sticking to the prince. Giyeridon snorted.

The bird is annoying. The snake is annoying. Why do we even have a human?

If learning the Devil’s Law was the bare minimum, then Giyeridon would match it no matter what. And then he would suggest that rankings and prestige be decided the normal way: through combat. He wanted to see the stupid look on Fennel’s face when his chains of fire dragged her down from the sky. He wanted to bash Rahashik’s face until he finally stopped talking. And Cassius? The human belonged with the rest of the slaves, under his hoof.

“Hey, are you done with that chapter yet?” A hobgoblin came over and asked.

Giyeridon fumed. “No, I’m not! Do you see me reading it?!”

He raised his fist to smash a small chair within reach, but froze. Destruction of public property had a fine associated with it, he remembered, and Giyeridon had no money. However… he glanced back at the Hobgoblin and recalled that a superior was welcome to pound his subordinates—within reason—if they spoke out of line. So he rerouted his fist and popped the goblinoid on the chin, catching him by the shoulder before he could fall back and possibly damage something.

“Somebody drag this idiot to the backroom!” he shouted, and a couple of other hobgoblins obliged.

Meanwhile, with tensions rising in general—because none of the monsters enjoyed being cooped up like this—a pair of cat monsters started hissing at each other and rolling around, and they knocked over and broke a candle stand.

“Don’t break the furniture!” Giyeridon shouted. “Is that so hard?!”

He stormed over, careful not to stomp too hard on the wooden floorboards, and snatched the two felines up by the scruffs of their necks. The jaguar-like creatures looked like house cats in his grip.

“You damn spot-furs. Do you have money to pay for that? I didn’t think so. Come on, you fuckers, we’re going to sell your souls.” The large, bipedal bull monster paused in the doorway and shouted at the rest of the troops. “Today is the last day Prince Astaroth can delay compensation for the non-slaves. Just keep quiet for one more fucking day, alright?!”

Giyeridon snorted once more and marched to the manor at the center of the town. He saw Rahashik loitering by the entrance, playing with a cruel black dagger that seemed to shimmer in the air. It was a summoned, magical thing, no different from Giyeridon’s Imp, except that it was a lot less useful, in the Minotaur’s humble opinion.

“Hey now,” the snake hissed a laugh, “did you already drop by the church without me noticing? You look just like those humans dragging their friends and family here to be punished.”

Giyeridon didn’t know what the snake was talking about, so he just snorted. “Move. These two need to pay their fine.”

Rahashik glanced at the two cat monsters, curled up to look small and seeming oh so very miserable.

“Are you sure? Couldn’t you just report the fine tomorrow after they’ve been paid?”

There was a playful, unserious flavor to the lizardfolk’s raspy voice, which was the only reason Giyeridon didn’t headbut the smile off his face.

“No,” the Minotaur huffed, pushing ahead to go inside.

Behind him, Rahashik chuckled. “I never noticed, but you were ‘lawful’ from the start, huh? That must be why the prince was calling Minotaurs ‘civilized’ earlier. I never would’ve known by looking at you meatheads.”

The annoying laughter was one thing, but Giyeridon’s ears flicked back when he heard that the prince had spoken well of him. But still, continuing to chat with the snake any longer would just lead to more annoyance. Astaroth’s third warlock simply smiled to himself and kept moving.

He found his master in the tea room, sitting near the window, with piles of documents in front of him. A map of the surrounding area was spread open on the desk, and Fennel was standing deferentially at his side.

These idiots really have nothing to do, he frowned and thought, trying not to glare at the bird while he set down the cats. They were utterly cowed in Astaroth’s presence.

“These two were wrestling in the library and broke a candle stand,” Giyeridon announced.

Astaroth smiled faintly, “Is that so? And do they have any money to pay the fine?”

“No.”

It was just a mere two silver coins even if they racked the punishment up to its highest allowable degree, but they cats were flat broke all the same.

“Indeed.” The Devil smiled and nodded. With a flick of his finger, the cats arched their backs and retched up two misty white souls, which the Devil bound in black steel and disappeared to who knows where.

“Consider your debt paid. Now, return to your orders.” Astaroth smiled pleasantly up at the bipedal bull monster. “You as well, Giyeridon. Keep up the good work.”

The Minotaur overseer pounded his chest once with his fist and nodded, turning to leave with a heart full of pride.

On his way out, he couldn’t help glancing back once, and he saw Fennel affectionately stroking a pair of subtle bumps that had recently appeared on the prince’s forehead. Her beak moved as she whispered something, and Astaroth smiled at her.

For a moment, Giyeridon’s feelings of fulfillment gave way to a dark and thorny emotion. However, while smiling, the prince reached up, held Fennel’s hand that was touching him, and mercilessly compressed it in his grip until her hollow bones broke. While she was squawking and nursing her broken hand, he coolly pointed her attention back down at the map.

Feeling somehow satisfied, Giyeridon continued back to his post without looking back again.

***

Varincia Glout, youngest member of the Warren Republic’s council, admired the gilded walls of the capital’s church building, wishing dearly that she could pry its treasures free to fund her research. Before she could possibly put such desires into motion, the woman she had come to meet, the current head of the church, Odette Thaumicaster, found her leering.

“Councilwoman Glout.”

Sudden and strict as the voice was, it made the sorceress jump.

“Ah, that was fast. Good afternoon, your holiness.”

Varincia brushed a lock of frizzy brown hair behind her ear, repeatedly smoothing down her dull yet exquisitely made robes. She couldn’t help feeling like a child caught misbehaving.

The head of the church was a tall woman, quite literally looking down on the awkward council member. She was dressed from head to toe in gilded white robes. Dry, straw-blonde hair was tied tightly in a bun behind her head, and her face was thin and sharp.

Her appearance and bearing evoked an ingrained fear in anyone who had ever been caned by a stern teacher as a child—Varincia included.

“I have little time before the next sermon and much to do.” the holiest lady got immediately to the point. “Follow me. I’ve had what you requested taken out of storage.”

With long and brisk strides, her holiness departed. Keeping pace with her was a genuine challenge, but Varincia did her best, a little embarrassed of the sound her boots made against the pristine white tiles.

Sorcery was a dangerous art, so closed-toe footwear was a must. Varincia preferred the comforting weight of heavy boots, personally.

Lady Thaumicaster seemed to tolerate the steady clunking, though she herself was wearing thin slippers that were all but soundless.

After treading down several halls, all equally glamorous, they arrived at a cosy sitting room. Inside was none other than Dame Cyril herself, holding a shining golden spear.

Varincia rarely remembered a knight’s name, aside from those who’d guarded her for some length of time, but how could she ever forget the person who had delivered a Devil’s declaration of war written in blood on human skin?

Cyril bowed her head politely to the sorceress when they made eye contact and recognized each other.

“One of three divine relics left in our hands by the Angels, the Holy Spear,” the lady Thaumicaster nodded her head and explained. “Normally, it’s something we would never lend out, but Dame Cyril has been sworn in as a member of our Paladin order. Having faced the Devil once already, she is a fine choice to wield it.”

“I swear by the holy light of the Angels that I won’t be cowed or tempted.”

Varincia nodded, her eyes raking over the glimmering body of the spear. She was no holy caster, but it was clear this artifact was bursting with celestial power. Her gaze shifted to a low table, where a humble, grey-bound book was sitting.

“Then that must be the Book of Dissenters.” The mere presence of a book was enough to put the sorceress back in her element and restore her confidence. Her eyes when she looked up at the lady Thaumicaster were clear and focused. “May I peruse it?”

“Naturally,” the head of the church nodded. “Devils are detailed in the first half. May the Angels inspire you with a worthy strategy. Salu Celestia.” She held her hands together and cast her gaze up briefly in prayer. “Now then, as I said, my time is short, so I will leave you to it. Keep in mind that that book is not to be moved unless by a member of our order.”

Varincia nodded and soon she was alone with Dame Cyril, the Holy Spear, and the book. The sorceress took a seat on the nearer of two couches, which was quite comfortable and soft, despite looking suspiciously like it had been gilded in gold leaf. She picked up the unassuming tome and thumbed through it, marveling in disgust at how many different kinds of Devils there were.

“Excuse me, Dame Cyril?”

“Yes, Councilwoman Glout?”

“Could you take a look at these and tell me what sort of Devil our adversary seems like?”

“Of course.”

The Paladin tucked the divine weapon in the crook of one arm and accepted the book Varincia handed her. She thumbed through the pages slowly, reading each one carefully, and marking a few spots with separate fingers to come back to later for comparison. Finally, she paused and freed all the fingers she’d tucked into the pages, glaring at one she’d just turned to with some residual trauma in her eyes.

“This one,” she declared, handing the book back.

Varincia scanned the page, noting a sketch of a creature that looked very much like a human child. The title made a sickened shiver trail up her spine: Larval Devil Prince.

Through reading the surrounding passages, she learned that Devils had a hierarchy they were born into, and the princes were at the top. They were ageless beings, maturing on a basis of power rather than time, never to die unless killed.

Consequently, their numbers were few and well-known.

Varincia, ever a dedicated scholar, decided to read up on the basics before investigating their specific enemy, as there seemed to be a section of this book dedicated to him alone.

Being gifted from birth, Devil princes would go through a steady sequence of metamorphosis as they collected more and more mortal souls. Or, if they lost a significant chunk of power, they could regress backwards up the chain.

As infants, they would start as a Pustule Devil Prince. It was something like a hideous white growth resembling an egg—powerless physically, but still intelligent and capable of simple magic: for instance, the power to become invisible or to charm would-be enemies.

The pustule would then hatch into its juvenile form: known as a Larval Devil Prince. That was the current state of their enemy: physically as capable as a human knight, with magic on par with an average court sorcerer. However, it was still a child’s body, lacking considerably in defense, resilience, and stamina.

Following the larval was the adolescent form: the Burgeoning Devil Prince. Even allowing their enemy to grow that far would be disastrous for them. Already at that stage, they gained the ability to fly, left the realm of human physical capacity behind, and approached Varincia’s spellcasting prowess.

Lastly was the adult stage: the Debauched Devil Prince. Only the Angels could save them if their enemy reached this point.

“He’s at his weakest now,” Varincia muttered. “In that case, it’d be best to kill him as soon as possible.”

The Councilwoman scanned the Devil Prince entries one last time to make sure she had memorized them, along with the more general traits that applied to all Devils. Then she flipped ahead to where Astaroth himself was described.

“The prince of the fourth layer of hell, huh? A Devil Prince of Pride, third in the rankings of the nine hells. Negotiations, bribes, honeytraps, nothing will convince him to spare us, and even if defeated in combat he’ll just crawl his way back up if he’s still alive. A scheming old monster who loves what he does… Really, this book is an amazing resource.”

To go from knowing nothing about their enemy to almost everything was incredible. If they failed to kill Astaroth even with all of this information, it would be their fault with no one else to blame.

Varincia set the book down on the low table and looked over her shoulder at Cyril.

“So how does that spear work exactly? Is it just a regular spear that’s especially harmful to demons, or does it have special properties?”

Dame Cyril held the divine weapon regally in front of her and explained what lady Thaumicaster and the other paladins had taught her.

“The answer is both. It’s a spear that kills evil beings, and when thrown, it becomes a streak of light that can pierce through anything.”

“Anything, huh? I’m sure General Mauvek and I would like to see it in action before planning a strategy around it.”

Horacio Mauvek, the Councilman in charge of military affairs, was cooperating with Varincia to deal with the Devil threat they were facing. While she, the sorcerers, and the church would corner and kill the Devil, he and his soldiers would clean up the remaining monster army that the Devil had gathered.

He couldn’t be here today, since he was busy rounding up soldiers and supplies. No matter how fast they moved to prepare everything, they knew the citizens of Limure would have spent at least a month under Devil rule before their troops came within striking distance of the city.

They planned to make up for that lost time with a successful counterattack.

“I’ve already been given permission to wield this spear, so that’s fine. Just prepare a wide open area, because it really won’t stop once I throw it.”

“That could actually be a little inconvenient. What if you aimed too close to the ground, would we have to dig it up?”

Seeing Dame Cyril nod with an experienced look on her face, Varincia blinked.

“Hm. You’re getting my hopes up.”

The book made it clear: there was no room for humans and Devils to live under the same sky together. Astaroth had to die in order for them to live peacefully and prosper, so Varincia hoped this spear really could kill him.

Because if their first strike failed, it was now quite clear that that parasite would rather flee than fight to the death against dozens of holy and arcane casters.